


Q-nip

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, fill for 007 fest prompt 25
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 08:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Q is ordered to take leave and Bond accompanies him and discoveries are made along the way about Q and a certain herbal extract.





	Q-nip

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for Prompt 25 from the 007 fest anonymous prompt table

Bond:  
Bond exited the depressingly anonymous MI6 SUV and advanced to the town house door. He pushed the bell and waited for the expected security measures to be worked through before the door opened. Q stood on the other side, an assortment of bags around him, including two cat carriers from which issued mournful complaints. “I'm surprised they sent you,” was the only comment he made as he began to shift the bags out the door. 

“I was told I was escorting you since medical still has me on limited duty.” Bond grabbed a metal case and, more gingerly, one of the fabric cat carriers. “Are your pets coming along?” 

Q huffed irritably. “Of course not. I am not subjecting them to a 5 hour road trip. We're stopping at my cat sitter.” Having re locked his door and secured all the bags, he sank into the passenger seat and belted in. “Up this street, turn left and then second right.”

Following the directions, the cats were quickly transferred to the care of a young woman who smiled, accepted the printed instruction sheet Q handed her, and waved them off. Bond remained in the car, wondering what the hell was going on. Q returned to the car, removed a tablet from the small bag at his feet and advised, “Just get on the A303. Bloody Mallory. Bloody civil service regulations. Stupid bean counters.”

Bond let the comments pass until he had navigated them onto the motorway and Q had a chance to cool down. “May I inquire what M has done to incur your wrath this time?”

Q snorted then gave a long suffering sigh. “I suppose he had no choice. Even he can't shift monumental bureaucracy. He waved a sheaf of HR paperwork at me and told me the agency was subject to fines if support staff didn't have leave documented in amounts commensurate with hours worked. Apparently I haven't taken any time off in four years. Thus, I am banished from the halls of MI6 for three weeks. And, since my security rating requires it, you are as well. Welcome to my exile, 007.” He tapped at the tablet for a bit. 

“So where are we going? Bond inquired, in a perfectly reasonable tone. “Or were you just planning on driving straight off Lands End. This isn't a submarine in disguise.”

Q finally laughed a bit. “Bond, I am convinced that my predecessor was completely bonkers at times. That was a dreadful idea. And no, we are only going as far as Cadgwith. I own a small place there, inherited from an elderly uncle who liked beaches and gardens. I'm sorry it won't be your usual sort of place.”

Bond shrugged. “I'm a bit more adaptable than you might suspect. You said there's a beach?”

“Two, actually. But only the small one is for swimming. The other one's the domain of the fishermen. I sent a message to the woman who looks after the place for me. She'll have the kitchen stocked at any rate.”

The miles passed reasonably quietly. Q slept for most of it. Bond glanced over and reflected that Mallory shouldn't have needed the regulations to decide Q needed leave. He was always pale but looked ghostly lately and the shadows under his eyes were there all the time now. He left the radio on low and drove smoothly, making lane changes with minimal fuss. He began watching signs and saw the ones for Cadgwith just as Q stirred in the passenger seat and fumbled with his glasses as he tried to rub his eyes. He peered around blearily and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, we're almost there. Sorry I slept the whole way.”

Bond eased the car off the motorway onto a smaller local road. “Never mind. It was a nice drive. Where to now?” 

Q: 

Q gave him directions through winding lanes overhung with old trees and bordered by low stone walls. At some places, the road allowed glimpses down into the sort of picturesque village one might see on a glossy travel brochure. They eventually pulled up in a space next to a cottage painted a bright sunny yellow with blue trimmed shutters. The house was surrounded by a stone wall and an overgrown garden. Q gave a low disappointed sigh. “I pay to have the place maintained. The garden is a mess.” Bond busied himself with the bags as Q tried to contact the gardener, the husband of the woman who functioned as de facto housekeeper. After a few moments he looked up. “Well, that explains it. Mr. Wynne had an attack of gallstones and is in hospital. His wife stocked the kitchen and bath but had to run back to sit with him. I'll have to send a basket. I feel guilty thinking he was slacking. He and his wife are very nice people.”

“Reasonable mistake,” Bond responded. “You had no way of knowing he was ill.” He had unloaded the bags and gestured at Q for the keys to let them in. Q helped move things inside and began the tedious process of setting up his personal security net. Small cameras and motion detectors were scattered around the house and property and linked to his laptop which ran a continuous surveillance program. He turned around after an hour and discovered Bond had unpacked the kitchen and was nowhere in sight. He heard an odd mechanical noise outside and stuck his head out the window. There was 007, James Bond himself, running a push mower around the lawn, dressed in khaki shorts and a t shirt at least a size smaller than required. He halted at the end of the row and turned back to end below the window. He dragged off the straw hat he must have dug out of the garden shed and slapped at red spot on his neck. “I don't suppose your Mrs. Wynne thought to leave such a thing as bug spray?” Q shook his head once to reset. The sight of a sweaty Bond in a tight t shirt was scrambling his brain. He was used to the effect of the man in sharp suits and had developed defenses for that. This was total war and he was not prepared. He ducked back inside and rummaged in the bathroom supplies and first aid stuff. He pulled out a pump spray and examined the label. 'All natural herbal ingredients. Guaranteed to repel insects while being harmless to the environment. Non-toxic to bees and humans.' It didn't surprise him. The local folks were heavily invested in natural solutions to things. Their living depended on a healthy ecosystem. He brought the bottle to the window and handed it out. Bond eyed the bottle, shrugged and nodded thanks. Q closed the window to keep flying grass clippings out and went back to work. Occasionally he risked a glance out the window. Bond had completed his mowing and was trimming the climbing roses. Q shivered a bit as he watched the stretch of shoulder and back as the man reached up to the top of the arbor. Bond paused and pulled the spray bottle out of a back pocket and reapplied the repellent to his arms and legs, spraying a bit on his hands and rubbing it over his face.

Q returned to the program he was fiddling with, not really accomplishing much. He was cursing Mallory, sending him to the edge of civilization with the one man that disturbed his normal equanimity. Of course, Mallory could not know that Q had a major crush on the man. Hell, he was ridiculously in lust. Just his miserable luck that Bond had been assigned to play watchdog. He dragged himself away from his laptop, deciding that if Bond was doing the hard physical work of taming the garden, it was only fair he provide dinner. He examined the choices and selected a hearty seafood chowder that only required reheating and some bread from the local baker. The meal would be ready quickly so he called out to the garden to let Bond know that he should clean up. 

He was stirring the chowder when Bond walked past him to get to the bathroom. “Smells good,” he commented as he moved past. Q's eyes widened and he put a hand out to steady himself against the counter. A sudden flush heated his skin and his head swam as if he had taken a shot of vodka. He abruptly felt loose and relaxed and, at the same time, in need of something. His skin was oversensitive and he slid his back against the kitchen door jamb feeling utter ecstasy as he scratched against it. He returned to the stove, making sure the soup didn't scorch and wondered what had gotten into him. Bond, showered and dressed in fresh clothes, ate two servings of the soup and pronounced it excellent. He settled down with a book after dinner, while Q cleaned up the kitchen and showered himself. He was surprised to find Bond agreeable company, unobtrusive and quiet. He supposed it made sense. Despite his reputation as a menace, a huge percentage of his field time definitely had to be under the radar. 

The following morning was completely ordinary, until Bond headed out to tackle more of the garden. He retrieved the spray bottle from the bathroom where he had left it and proceeded to apply it over every bit of exposed skin. “This stuff is actually good,” he commented. “Doesn't smell awful either.” He sprayed a bit in Q's direction and the effect was immediate. His breath caught and he smiled for no good reason and grabbed at Bond's hand but quickly jerked back. Bond appeared not to notice, already turned and walking out the door. Q was breathing hard and not at all sure why. He thought there was something he should be thinking through but he was distracted by the pattern of dust motes in the sun coming in the front window. He wandered over and sank down on the carpet cross legged. The sun felt amazing. He stretched into a yoga pose, and only held it for a moment before sinking into a puddle. He shoved his glasses off and wriggled, enjoying the heat of the sun and the texture of the wool rug. He wondered why he had been so against the idea of leave. This was wonderful. 

Q looked at the clock. How had he managed to lose an hour? True, he felt relaxed and aware but this was not at all like him. The last thing he remembered was Bond going out the door after breakfast. And it was almost time for lunch now. He shook himself and went to the kitchen. He decided to take the sandwiches outside, finding Bond had cleared the area around the small table and chairs. He set the plates down and went back for the pitcher of lemonade he had mixed up. When he returned, Bond was rinsing his hands at the hose. “Thanks,” he said as he sat down, grabbing a glass and draining it in one go.

“Least I can do,” Q replied. You're doing all the heavy work.” He waved a hand at the garden.

“I don't mind. It's good exercise and, unlike PT, I get to actually see a result.” He pointed at the corner he'd been cleaning up, shrubs neatly trimmed. 

“Well, thank you anyway. It does look good.” He didn't say that he thought Bond himself looked better. 

“If you intend to stay out here, you'd best use this stuff.” Bond held out the spray bottle. Q shrugged and sprayed himself liberally. 

Bond:

Bond watched as Q's eyes dilated and his face relaxed in a blissful smile. “Q, are you all right?” he asked, not really alarmed but curious.

Q fucking giggled. “I'm absolutely fine.” He leaned back in the chair and squinted up at the sunlight making green mosaics of the foliage overhead. He squirmed a bit in the chair, reclining it and stretching his arms and legs with every appearance of hedonistic delight.

Bond risked a touch. Perhaps Q was coming down with something? He rested a hand on Q's forehead and got a soft hum, as Q closed his eyes and rubbed his face into Bond's hand. When Bond tried to withdraw, Q grabbed his hand and nuzzled into it, hanging on fiercely. Enchanted, Bond eased his chair a bit closer and flexed his hand. Q relaxed his grip and Bond slid careful fingers into the dark waves that had been a temptation to him for months, indeed ever since he had first seen the man. He had wanted Q for a long while but really didn't know if the man would be open to an approach. Sometimes he gave a hint of interest and then gave a glare that might have frightened a man without Bond's level of confidence. He petted at the soft mop garnering approving noises and the occasional shove of Q's head against Bond's hand to suggest a new spot. This was lovely, and bizarre. Bond stretched an arm and grabbed the insect spray bottle. He was not just the blunt instrument Q had once implied. An agent at his level had to be smart or he didn't live long. It wasn't hard to link the use of the spray with the immediate reaction on Q's part. He read the ingredients list. He fumbled out his phone and began to search the names of the substances. One seemed a possible culprit. Vetiver. It was supposed to have relaxation effects but was also reputed to be a sexual attractant and was used in a lot of men's fragrances, having a woodsy, earthy scent. He reflected it might be a more concentrated version in the spray. Well, as much as this was fun, it wasn't something he could allow to continue. Common gossip notwithstanding, he did have a sense of ethics and this was wrong. Now that he knew what was happening, he couldn't take advantage of Q this way. 

Q:

Q woke up to a hand shaking him. He wasn't sure what he was doing in the garden. He also wasn't sure why he had a hold on Bond's other hand. He forced himself to release his grip. Bond moved back and gestured for Q to get up. “You need to take a shower, now.” He raised the bottle of insect repellent. “This has something in it that makes you react like you're intoxicated and your skin is full of the stuff.”

Q frowned. He still felt a bit sleepy as though he had a mild hangover. But he hadn't drunk anything. The last thing he remembered was spraying himself...

He made a dash for the bathroom, sudden panic nipping at his heels. He had no idea what he had done but had a vague impression he had made a fool of himself. He stripped and tossed his clothes outside the bathroom door, running the shower hot and soaping thoroughly and scrubbing his hair. Then he repeated the process. He emerged and smelled only his own soap and shampoo. His mental processes seemed clear, And he was naked. Damn. He had tossed the sprayed garments out into the hall and had no fresh ones at hand. 

As if in answer to his anxieties, there was a diffident tap at the door. “Are you all right?” Well, who else would it be but Bond.

Q cleared his throat and answered. “I think I'm fine. But I would appreciate it if you would bring me a change of clothes.” 

There was a shuffling sound outside. “Do we have a washer?”

“Yes, in the corner of the kitchen.” Q thought that was smart. His clothes would be permeated with the stuff.

Bond returned a little later, “I washed my hands and put your clothes in the washer. Your clean ones are out here. I'll wait outside the house until you're done so I can shower as well.”

Q grimaced. Locking the stable after the horse is well and truly out. “That would be advisable, thank you.” He eased the door open. Finding the hallway empty of everything but a stack of neatly folded clothing, he grabbed the garments and dressed hurriedly. He ducked into the sitting room and watched from what he hoped was a safe distance as Bond ducked for the shower himself. He emerged dressed in clean clothes and deposited his old ones in the washer which he started, finally coming in to the sitting room. He had retrieved two water bottles from the fridge and sat down on the sofa, an arms length away. 

Bond:

Q looked nervous when Bond sat next to him. He was tapping at his tablet, Bond noting a page labeled 'Plants With Psychoactive Properties'. He read a bit more than looked at Bond. Rather he looked in Bond's direction. “Could you describe what happened?” he asked. “My own recollection isn't clear.”

All right. Bond could do this. “You appeared to react strongly to the spray that I've been using with no ill effects perceived. You applied it and became, intoxicated, for lack of a better word. Dilated pupils, facial flush and very tactile reactions.”

“Define tactile,” Q requested with a neutral expression.

“I touched you to see if you might be feverish. You grabbed my hand and rubbed against it, pushed your face against it. I made the connection. You may want to look up vetiver. It's one of the ingredients.” Bond raised the bottle and drank some water.

Q scavenged more data. Finally he sat back, rubbing his hair absently. “Catnip,” he pronounced ruefully. “It's like fucking catnip. And some cats have receptors to react to it and some don't. I would surmise I am one of the former.” He sat back, head resting on the sofa cushion. “I am sorry I behaved that way. It's a bad start. Perhaps we should ask M if he can send someone else.”

Bond saw where this was leading. “No need. It was fun, a bit too much fun maybe.”

Q's eyes flashed pure temper. “Fun? Having me rubbing all over you like an over sexed tomcat was fun?”

Now or never, Bond. “Yes. It was. And I suspect it would be even more fun if we could try it when you weren't under the influence of Q-nip.” Q's face was a mix of suspicion and dawning possibility. Bond took that as an opportunity and reached his hand out slowly, pushing an errant sable curl behind Q's ear and stroking down the side of his neck, feeling his pulse jump. “Might want to answer me. I have no intention of going any further without a statement.” The entire time his fingers traced light patterns on the pale skin, now beginning to develop a lovely rosy flush. Q swallowed hard and Bond felt and saw the convulsive movement. 

“And what happens if I say yes?” Q licked his lips nervously, green eyes now meeting Bond's.

Bond smiled. “Anything you like. I'd recommend a nice slow snog on the sofa.” Bond could almost see the calculations running through Q's head. “I know that's something I've wanted for a long time.”

That seemed to generate even more confusion and calculation. Bond was willing to wait it out.

Q:

Q was vacillating between heaving himself forward and deciding it was all a bad joke at his expense and he was not sure he had the resources to deal with being the butt of that kind of joke. Still, Bond was being very open and, for lack of a better word, respectful. And his hand really did feel very good. Hell, in a pinch he could just blame it on residual herbal overload. He finally leaned in, intending to close the distance. Bond raised an eyebrow. “Is that a yes? Seriously, I would like to hear it out loud so there's no misunderstanding.”

Q was only inches away, closer by the slow second. “Yes,” he whispered in a quite exhalation as his mouth met Bond's The kiss was a soft sweet beginning. Somehow Q had never imagined Bond would kiss so gently and he had had frequent imaginings. This was infinitely better And the man's hands were just as good, The one in his hair stroked tenderly, massaging his scalp, interspersed with very light scratches of the blunt fingernails. The other arm slid around his waist, pressing at the dip of his spine with the fingers splayed out and flexing. Q appreciated every small nuance. He felt a soft glide of tongue along his lips and eagerly opened them only to have the delicate touch withdraw. He pushed forward, following the retreat, tracing Bond's mouth, hot and welcoming. He luxuriated in the exchange of breath, the slow glide of Bond's tongue over and around his. He drew away for a moment, fumbling his glasses out of the way, an impediment to getting closer. He dove back in again, Bond sinking back further and drawing Q down with him. Damn the man was solid! Q got his own hands working, one hand trying for a handful of Bond's hair. Useless that, it was too short. He settled for a grip on an ear, while sliding his other hand under the hem of Bond's t shirt to run his fingers over any bit of skin he could. 

“Are you deliberately wearing these tight?” Q tugged at the hem. “It was driving me mad when you were working outside.” 

Bond laughed and shifted, allowing Q better access. “Perhaps. You, on the other hand, conceal your assets.” He gave a tug and Q's polo slid up, bunching under his arms. Bond's hands immediately drifted to the exposed skin in a hypnotic glide tracing the spine and the outward sweep of shoulder blades. It wasn't the least bit ticklish. It was erotic as hell.

“You have a kink for backs, Bond?” Q asked idly as he found random areas of skin to kiss, finding the lobe of one ear highly attractive. He traced it with his tongue and discovered a tiny notch. “Knife?”

Bond chuckled at the sudden shifts in focus. “I have a kink for your back. It's quite graceful. And, no, that's not a knife scar. A wire snapped back at me during a chase on a motorcycle. And please, call me James.”

Q pushed up, cocking his head a bit to the side. “James, could we perhaps move this to a more secure surface, since I feel a bit like I might end up on the carpet if I roll too much to the side?”

“Was that an invitation to bed, just so we're clear?” James asked, posing his own not so humorous question.

“It was,” Q stated with finality.

“Whose bed? I mean there is yours and the guest room.”

Q gave a wide grin. “Mine, of course. It's bigger.”

Bond:

The rest of the evening proved that they were pretty much matched in size, although Q's slender frame made him look a bit bigger in proportion. It also proved that the influence of Q-nip, as Bond called it, was just part of the story. Q was amazingly tactile when he was unleashed. He thrived on full body contact and Bond gave in to being a cuddle toy. He got a chance to explore the curves of Q's back and layered kisses over every inch, while Q wriggled and made the most delightful noises. In between rounds, Q preferred to be in contact with as much skin as he could. Bond privately wondered if Q's habit of wearing multiple layers was an unconscious defense against his own unacknowledged need for touch. Perhaps a bit soon to start asking such questions but he was sure he would eventually get around to them. 

In the meantime, he held an exhausted Q who, even soundly asleep, was firmly in possession of Bond's left arm and smiling in his sleep as his hair was stroked. He was going to have to be observant in future. It wouldn't do to wear a cologne that made his Quartermaster want to rub all over him in the middle of the office. On the other hand, it might be a fine idea to find one for holidays and evenings out, just for the two of them to enjoy.


End file.
